


Thirty One Days

by Noelleian



Category: Gundam Wing, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drabbles, Drama, Humor, Multi, Thirty One Days of Drabbles, Three Paragraph Fics, drabble challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-19 15:49:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 9,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7367815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noelleian/pseuds/Noelleian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A challenge of three paragraph drabbles for thirty one days. Tags will be added when new drabbles are posted and rating may be subject to change. </p><p>If you're looking for the Walking Dead chapters, they're chapter 15 and 16 and I'll probably write one, or two more for this challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Send In the Clowns

Trowa didn’t know which way was up anymore. And that was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? Who knew brain damage was a gradual condition. Something that crept up on you like a boogyman in the black of night, biding its time until it finally decided to strike years later when you least expected it. 

He was grounded, forced into early retirement. His tightrope days gone, kaput. Sayonara, ol’ friend. It was nice while it lasted. His career prospects were dim like the dismal light in his bathroom that constantly flickered and exacerbated his chronic headaches.

Still, he wasn’t one to complain. That just wasn’t Trowa’s way. He went with the flow. Rolled with the punches. The sad clown had found a home, carved out a little niche for himself which was more than he’d ever expected to have in his rough and tumble life. Even when the shit hit the fan, you could always be thankful you had a fan to begin with. Or something. He’d never been one for pretty words and metaphors. That had always been Quatre’s schtick.


	2. And Hell Followed With Him

Sister Helen had always told him there was no such thing as curses, but Duo knew better. He knew what he really was; a symbol of bad things to come, a talisman, a walking curse inhabiting the body of a man. He carried death in every step, every movement, every smile, every laugh, every spoken word, and every single touch.

He’d known it was only a matter of time before those he loved succumbed to some horrific end, or another. He should have stayed away, but he couldn’t. His need for human interaction, for companionship, for love, was too overpowering.

When the last of his friends was laid to rest after taking a gruesome plunge to the bottom of an elevator shaft, he slung his meager belongings over his shoulder and moved on with a heavy heart. He vowed to avoid connecting with his human brethren, but he knew it was a promise he could never keep. Such was the way of a Reaper. He was the Pale Horse, his rider’s name was Death. And Hell followed with him.


	3. Regret

Regret wasn't a word that typically existed in Wufei's extensive vocabulary. Regret was for weak, simple-minded fools who made stupid decisions without thinking them through. 

So then why was it a persistent companion that prodded and berated him whenever he thought about his relationship with Meiran? Granted, they hadn't gotten along. Arranged marriage notwithstanding, they weren't a good match, or at least that's what he told himself for the longest time. He was steadfast in solving the growing conflict between Earth and the colonies with diplomacy. After all, violence was for neanderthals who couldn't talk their way out of a cardboard box. He'd put his foot down when Meiran insisted she wanted to fight for their colony, for their clan. 

He was met with a sneer that promptly forced him to rethink his position as the head of the household. _As if you have any say in what I do_ , she'd said, her voice low and venomous. She fought and she died and somehow Wufei had decided to take her place. The pacifist turned hardened soldier. At first, he'd convinced himself that it was because it was the right thing to do. It wasn't until years later that he realized he'd been driven by the one thing he always refused to acknowledge. Regret was his onus, his burden, and he wore it like a scarlet letter. Regret reminded him that he was fallible. Human. 


	4. Left Behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for torture and rape. Proceed with caution.
> 
> Why do I do these things to my poor baby peanut? It's only because I love him so much. *pets Quatre and gives him a cookie*

Quatre crawled along the filthy cement floor, shaking hands groping for the bowl of grimy water that was shoved beneath the bars of his prison cell. He tipped the bowl towards his mouth, greedily slurping the dirty water, parched for hydration. His ears picked up the leers from the guards and blinked unseeing eyes, too thirsty to feel shame at his predicament. 

The torture sessions he'd been subjected to had gotten progressively worse the longer he went without giving them the information they wanted. They'd starved him, broken his bones, carved into his skin with dirty scalpels, pulled fingernails, sodomized him with inanimate objects, and finally, took his eyesight. The chemicals they'd poured into his eyes had burned like scorching fire, searing the sensitive skin around them. Now, they were threatening to castrate him with molecular acid. 

After what he was sure had been weeks, he'd lost all hope for a rescue. There was no sign that his fellow pilots had attempted to break him free despite knowing where he was. They were there with him when he'd infiltrated the base. He was the only one who hadn't gotten away. He tried to convince himself that it was nothing personal, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they hadn't rescued him because he wasn't worth the trouble. At this point, it was only the mission that mattered. The likely plan was that they would blow the whole base up from the outside, with him in it. He was collateral damage anyway, unable to pilot his Gundam with his now blinded eyes. He rested his cheek against the cold, gritty concrete and closed his eyes, succumbing to exhaustion. Death would come soon. All he had to do was keep his mouth shut until it embraced him with sweet, painless mercy.


	5. Tango (Holiday Bonus Chapter)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holiday bonus fic because why not?
> 
> Treize/Une (one-sided, sort of), Pining!Une (I think Treize likes to play Hard to Get) xD

She is spun to the right and her breath catches when the hand on her back slips incrementally lower, the tips of Treize’s fingers spreading across the top of her backside. She steps back at his prompt and he follows without missing a beat, his eyes like blue fire, rivaling the hottest star. The only thing that’s missing is the rose between his teeth.

The people around them are hushed, watching through eyes that shine with admiration, though she knows that admiration is directed at her dance partner, not her. She knows what they see when they look at her. Cold, callous, ruthless…psychotic. A shrew who chose her career over marriage and a family. She wants to tell them that isn’t who she really is. Wants to scream and shout that she would have all those things if only the man who is holding her like a lover, would actually _be_ her lover.

He dips her back and she bends smoothly beneath his artiste manipulation, her hair brushing across the floor. She’s dizzy when she is righted again, though whether from the blood rushing to her head, or from the passionate way he sweeps her across the room, she isn’t sure. Perhaps that’s how _he_ sees her, too. Perhaps that’s why he is not her lover. If only she could lay to rest the war within her, perhaps he would see her as the woman she desperately wants to be for him. Until then, she will gratefully offer herself in whichever way he’ll have her. Perhaps this tango will lead to another…and another. Perhaps, one day, their tango will be the beginning of something beautiful.


	6. Learning to Live

Turning eighteen was something Heero never thought he'd experience. Yet, here he was, enduring chummy thumps on the back from friends he never thought he'd have. It was strangely surreal and he wasn't sure what to make of it. Civilian life was surreal. He felt ridiculously out of place, an alien among his own kind. 

He'd been toasted and sung to, blowing out eighteen flickering candles wedged into a cake larger than he ever thought was possible. His stomach churned with alcohol and sugar, a combination he was not accustomed to. It left him slightly queasy and he shifted in his chair, raising the champagne flute to his mouth at Duo's prompting despite not liking the dizzy feeling it gave him. He did what was expected of him, as he always did. The perfect little solder. His mouth curled into smiles he didn't quite feel and he thanked people for things he didn't really need. 

"Are you okay?" Relena had sensed his discomfort as had Quatre and they did their best to buffer the impact of the overly-boisterous guests who seemed to have no regard for personal space. Heero appreciated that and nodded, trying to reassure with a smile though he really just wanted to retreat to a dark, empty room and curl up into a ball. He didn't know if he'd ever get used to this and wished, not for the first time, that he could be more like Relena, or Quatre, or even like Duo. He could only hope, with time, he would learn to live the life that had been stolen from him.


	7. Show Me the Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trowa/Quatre
> 
> Warning for dubious consent.

Sweat rolls down my forehead and drips from my brow onto your flushed skin. I watch you through half-lidded eyes as my forceful thrusts bounce you across the bed. Your eyes are squeezed shut, your teeth clenching at the pain. Besides that and your fingers curled tightly into the bed covers, the rest of your body remains limp, pliable. You didn't protest when I threw you down, your back hitting the springs protruding from the worn mattress. You didn't protest when I ripped your shirt open, sending buttons rolling across the floor. You didn't protest when I yanked your pants down and forced my way inside you, despite the fact that I knew you'd never been taken before.

You take everything I throw at you. Why? Why do you allow me to hurt you? You say because I've earned the right after the way I was hurt, but that cannot be the real reason. I don't buy it. No matter how many things I can see in you through this strange connection we share, that is something you hold back from me and I wish to God I could break through the barriers in your mind the way I broke through your body. I hate that you can read everything about me, but I can't get inside you the way I want. Why won't you let me in?

So I get inside you any way I can and you let me even though it hurts you. It hurts me, too. Did you ever consider that? You must have because you know everything about me. And I have been hurt, many times and in many different ways. You know that, too. I wish I could figure out what you are and how you know these things. I don't know what I'm doing. Using you as an outlet for the pain and suffering I've been through, I suppose. But, you've suffered too, haven't you? And you're suffering now because of me. I'm sorry about that, but I can't stop. Not until you tell me why you let me hurt you. What will it take? More pain? As I reach my orgasm, I lean down and bury my face into your neck, whimpering because what are we doing to each other? _Please, tell me_ , I say. But you don't answer. You never do.


	8. The Novice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wufei/Sally
> 
> Okay, it’s not angst so I broke my own rule haha.

Sally knew it wouldn’t be easy. Wufei was nothing if not completely sexually repressed. Although they’d been brought up in similar cultures, Wufei still subscribed to the staunch, old ways of his clan. The first time she’d bared her breasts, he flushed bright red, coughed, and excused himself, his gait clumsy as he rushed for the safety of the bathroom.

It had taken a lot of time and patience and encouragement to convince him it was okay to even touch her. His hand had trembled and shook, his eyes looking everywhere but at her. She knew he’d been married before, but she was almost completely convinced he’d never bedded his wife. Probably never even saw her naked. Wufei never spoke of Meiran other than to say she’d been “a fine soldier”. 

Of course, once Wufei had finally begun to experience the pleasures of sex, he became insatiable. Pawing at her through her Preventers uniform, his kisses clumsy and inexperienced. Sally chuckled, remembering their first time. Wufei had been more like a baby calf first learning to walk. They’d made it work, though. And once he figured out what he was doing, he took to it like a duck to water. Such was the way of Wufei. He never did anything half-assed. He was always driven to be the best at everything and this was no exception. Sally only wished his pride hadn’t led to a heated competition with their coworker, Maxwell, over who was better at pleasuring their women.


	9. Dystopian Paradise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wufei/Treize
> 
> Master/Slave, in whichever context suits your fancy. Maybe they’re roleplaying. Maybe the Gundam pilots became evil, tyrannical dictators after they won the war and enslaved their enemies. Whatever floats your boat. ^_^ 
> 
> I’m so going to Hell.
> 
> Written for @outofworkshinigami
> 
> Warning for possible dubious consent.

The tinkle of chains echoed off the walls of the suite as the slave shifted on the silk cushion in the corner of the room. The dim lighting from the flickering candles and the crackling fire cast moving shadows across the chintz wallpaper and half-encased the man sitting nearby, creating an almost demonic effect as they played across the side of his face. The slave watched elegantly tapered fingers drum a silent staccato on a leather-clad knee and shivered, curling in on himself as the man’s eyes observed him with unwavering intent.

The Master was angry, the evidence of his wrath decorated the side of the slave’s face. The inflamed hand print was still warm, still prickly with the sting of the slap. He’d been caught masturbating on the Master’s bed and the punishment had been severe. His backside still ached from the violent fucking, laid out across the same bed he’d been struck on and chained to. The same bed where he’d committed his faux pas. His Master’s pleasure still clung to his skin, seeping out onto the silk fabric beneath him and he pulled his legs in tighter, hoping he would not be punished for staining the same cushion he’d been banished to. 

“Treize…” He glanced up, daring to meet the dark gaze of his Master, his breath hitching at the man’s exotic beauty. His black hair was down and loose around his shoulders, wavy after being held tight behind his head. His voice was cold, icy like Arctic glaciers. “Do you think you’ve been punished enough?” He didn’t know what the right answer was, but he chanced a nod in the affirmative and waited to see if he would be disciplined for daring to assume he’d paid the penalty for his transgression. To his relief, his Master sighed, a murmured, “Very well,” and tapped the side of his chair. Treize gratefully crawled across the floor, dragging his chain behind him, and knelt at the man’s feet, head bowed in supplication. He keened as a calloused hand stroked his sweaty hair away from his forehead. He was forgiven. In this life, in this moment, it was all that mattered.


	10. The Pacific

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duo/Wufei
> 
> Deathfic, Major character death, Saaaaaaaad
> 
> Like I said yesterday on Tumblr when I posted my senior citizen story, I was trying to soften the blow for what was coming. I’m sorry…no I’m not. *dodges flying bricks*

It was unheard of nowadays. Being lost at sea. That was for people who took stupidly risky stunts and rickety old ships from three hundred years ago with uneducated, superstitious crews who used the stars to guide them. With today’s technology, navigation systems, and global positioning satellites, it was virtually impossible to disappear into the vast abyss of the world’s largest ocean.

Wufei snorted, though it was not derived from humor, but a strange sense of tragic irony. He’d lost two loves now. One to the brutal violence of war and the other to a freak transport accident. There’d been some sort of engine failure that caused it to plunge into the depths of the Pacific, close to the spot that he stood now. The three occupants of the transport were never found. The last search had been called off one year ago today.

He didn’t know why he was out here. He’d never been on a boat in his entire life. He didn’t know what he hoped to accomplish. Duo’s body would not be found, not now, not ever. But here, rocking along with the swells and risking the light lunch he’d eaten before he’d taken this ridiculous trip, he felt a sense of connection. Like maybe, just maybe, while Duo’s body may have been lost, his spirit remained. Floating among the tumultuous waves, warning others away from the danger, swimming with the sharks and the dolphins, and maybe even the mermaids. He always did love mermaids.


	11. I'll Show You the Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trowa/Quatre
> 
> Sequel to Show Me the Way
> 
> Warnings for dubious consent, mentions of past sexual abuse.

Why do I let you hurt me? Why do I allow you to ravish me? I can read the questions in your mind as clearly as I can read my own. The answer is simple, if you know where to look. 

You’re not accustomed to that though, are you? You’re not accustomed to looking inside another person because you’re terrified of what you will see. Derision, rejection, an insidious intent to hurt you. I understand. I’ve seen what you’ve been subjected to. Much of the same that you’re now subjecting me to. I try not to let the pain show as your push your way inside my body, but I can’t help it if a little of it slips through. It hurts. But the pain between my legs is no match for the pain you’ve inflicted upon my heart.

But, it’s okay. Because I’ve hurt you, too. Nearly killed you, took your memories from you. I suppose I can say we’re even. Though it’s not the real reason I let you do this. You say you don’t know, that you want to know why. The answer is right here, right in front of you. All you need to do is accept what you don’t want to believe. I let you hurt me…because I love you.


	12. Answering the Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Treize/Zechs (Implied)

Being summoned to Treize’s personal quarters was something Zechs was long accustomed to, but that didn’t mean the implications of that were any less solicitous. He may have been a personal friend of OZ’s supreme leader, but he also took his orders directly from said leader. And sometimes those orders took on elements of a more… _personal_ nature. 

He stared at the back of the doorman’s head as the elevator rose to the penthouse floor and tried not to think about what might be required of him tonight, though he was reluctantly aware that he was failing miserably. He cleared his throat as his groin flared with the possibilities and tugged his white gloves over his hands. He studiously examined his reflection in the muted brass of the elevator doors and pressed down a wayward lock of hair, not missing the shift in the doorman’s eyes. He curled his lip, watching shrewdly as those beady eyes looked away, and straightened his jacket. The _ding_ as the lift reached the top floor reverberated off the walls and Zechs swallowed down the lurch in his stomach when the movement ceased. “Your floor, Sir,” the doorman said, bending slightly at the waist in a humble show of respect. 

Zechs lifted his chin, ignoring him as he strode past and made his way down the softly lit hallway, his footsteps silent on the plush carpeting. He reached the double mahogany doors and lifted his hand to rap his knuckles against the rich wood. “Come in, Milliardo.” Treize’s velvety voice drifted through the door before he could even announce his presence and Zechs cursed softly. _How does he do that?_ He took a deep breath and steeled himself, not sure what he would be met with, or what he would be expected to do, but knowing he would do all of it for the enchanting man who waited behind the door. He wrapped his fingers around the handles, turned them, and stepped inside.


	13. All's Fair In Love and War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trowa/Quatre, Heero/Quatre, Trowa/OFC

Watching her hang off his arm and simper at his every word was as nauseating as the time Quatre accidentally walked in on Rashid while he was doing his naked yoga. Actually, it was more nauseating. Especially when she batted her abnormally long eyelashes at _his_ man. _No way in hell are those things real._ That sentiment also applied to other parts of her anatomy. Parts that Trowa and the rest of the men at the party couldn’t stop slobbering over. Parts that were threatening to burst out of the top of her dress, no less. Quatre’s stomach twisted violently as he watched her press her painted lips against Trowa’s cheek and giggle when he blushed, ducking his head shyly. Quatre looked away and finished off his third shot of vodka, slamming the glass down on top of the bar. He studiously ignored the melodrama of the gesture and the glare that the bartender shot him.

 _Oh, God. This is torture. I’d rather watch Abdul perform his “magic” farting trick._ Which in reality wasn’t magic at all and was more psychologically traumatizing than it was funny, or interesting in any sense of the word. He cringed when her high pitched laughter reached his ears and tapped the bar for another shot. _I’d rather shave Auda’s back hair than be forced to sit through another minute of this Hell._

He was decidedly tanked when Heero slid smoothly onto the stool beside him. Quatre blinked bleary, blood shot eyes at his friend who arched a dark brow at him. “So, getting piss drunk is your brilliant plan for getting back at him? I thought you were smarter than that.” Quatre grunted, pointed an unsteady finger in Heero’s face and slurred, “You got a better idea?” He was startled when Heero grabbed the back of his head and pulled him into a deep and unbelievably hot kiss that left him breathless. He gaped like a drunk fish when Heero pulled away and smirked. “Yeah, I do. Here’s my room key. Let’s go give him something to think about.”


	14. The Curse of the Ginger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For verhinderer-luftzug on Tumblr who sent me the "ginger-bred man" joke. ^_^

The prisoners were lined along the wall, their hands dangling from the cuffs that hung on either side of them. They’d been deprived of food, water, and sleep for three days, but instead of weakening their resolve to talk, it only made them snarky. Treize had been certain that, at the very least, the little blond one would crack under the pressure and was surprised when the boy’s eyes flickered like blue fire and he sneered bruised lips. “Kiss my ass.”

The one with the long braid piped up, nudging his chin at Treize, but directing his comment at his copilots. “He’s a ginger, man. Never trust a ginger.” Treize sputtered, indignant before he was able to school his features back into a neutral expression. _How dare that little shit - alright Khushy ol’ boy, get a grip. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you._

The boy’s mouth curled up into a smirk, his eyes gleaming with malice. “Does the carpet match the drapes?” Treizie’s eyes bugged out of his head at the intensely personal question. “Hey, does that make you a ginger- _bred_ man? Ha!” He threw his head back and cackled so loud, it echoed off the steel walls of the cell. Treize’s eye twitched when the other four pilots snickered and he clenched his teeth against the bubbling rage. Pride stinging, he stomped his foot, spun on his heel and swiftly stalked out of the cell with a dramatic swirl of his cape, the sound of the Gundam pilots’ laughter ringing in his ears. He eyed the lead interrogator sharply. “Find another tactic. This one’s not working.” The interrogator nodded and waited until his commander was out of earshot. “Sure thing, Gingersnap.” 


	15. The Wolf In Sheep's Clothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dipping into my TWD fandom which I’ve never written about before. ^_^ Carol is, hands down, my favorite character and I can just imagine her interactions with Rick behind the scenes. xD

Carol saw the opportunity to shut down the discourse within the council and did so in her customary style wrapped in fluffy sweaters and sugar cookies. She discreetly flagged the man and flashed her knife with a quick and steady flick of her wrist, the sunny smile on her face never wavering. She watched as the man paled and looked away and she slid the knife back up her sleeve as smoothly as she’d brandished it.

A quick glance to her right and she knew instantly from Rick’s cursory look that her threat had not gone unnoticed. If anyone in their group was as sharp as she was, it was their makeshift leader. She graced the heavily bearded man with a cheerful grin and a nod of her head. Rick pressed his lips together, glanced away, then glanced back at her. He was wise enough not to cause a scene in front of the group, but Carol knew her slight of hand would be addressed once the two of them were alone.

And she was right. Rick cornered her on her way home. He propped his hand against the vinyl siding of the house, the index and middle fingers of his other leaning on his hip. He lowered his head as he was wont to do when he was preparing himself for another lecture. “Carol,” he began, his voice laden with exasperation. “You can’t _threaten_ our own people.” She clutched the empty tupperware that she’d brought her freshly baked cookies to the meeting in to her chest and tilted her head, a wry smile curling her lips. “Rick, sometimes it’s necessary when you need to get an important point across. We can’t have _our_ people jeopardizing the lives of others with stupid, knee-jerk reactions.” She gave him a pointed look. “You _know_ that, too, don’t you, Captain.” It wasn’t a question. Her point made, she turned away and headed into the house. It was nearly suppertime and she had quite the killer meal planned. Emphasis on killer.


	16. Checkmate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glenn/Maggie
> 
> Character death, implied violence, gore

The blood was everywhere, brain matter scattered across the ground in wet clumps mixed with pieces of broken skull bone. The screams of horror, of helpless rage and uncharted grief were more than he could take. Rick tipped his head down and squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately block it all out, but he simply couldn’t. Not this time. Of all the traumatizing things he’d seen and done, this was something he was not prepared to handle.

The unfortunate recipient of “Lucy’s” wrath was the second person who saved his ass after the world went to shit and he’d been a close ally and even closer friend ever since. Maggie’s screams, weak and hoarse with illness spoke of the kind of pain that just wrenched your heart out of your chest after cutting through your skin with a dull, rusty blade. Rick sucked in a whimper at the sound, overcome with a profound sense of guilt. His mind was a constant litany of regret. _I’m so sorry, Maggie. Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry._

Rick had finally met his match. They were outnumbered, overpowered. Weakened with hunger, they had no chance. He hadn’t known how many there were, had underestimated them, underestimated _him_. The deep, gruff laugh of his newest nemesis reached his ears and he lifted his heavy head, his sweaty hair hanging over his eyes. Negan stood with that same satisfied and rather unhinged smirk, “Lucy” resting on his shoulder. Blood was splattered on his face, jacket, and dripped from the deadly weapon onto the ground behind him. The blood of his beloved friend. Maggie’s screams had subsided to anguished whimpers and hiccups. Rick met the cold, black eyes of the man who’d just taken someone precious from them. He’d woken the sleeping bear. Now, it was time for the sharks to come out and play.


	17. Intoxication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trowa/Quatre (Implied), OMC’s/Quatre
> 
> Warning for date rape drugging and sexual assault.

The VIP room of the club was loud, boisterous, and full of celebrating soldiers. When the shots were passed around, Quatre tried to decline them. His religion forbade drinking and he was still on a moderate amount of pain medication from his stabbing injury. It just wasn’t a good idea. But Duo was nothing if not persuasive and Quatre found himself slamming the alcohol back, cringing as liquid fire burned his throat and traveled down his esophagus. He coughed at the hearty slap on his back and tried to smile despite his triggered gag reflex.

“Atta boy, Quat! It’s peacetime now. We won the war so let’s celebrate in style.” Duo pressed another full shot glass into his hand and he drank it down, surprised that it was a little easier the second time. His mind was already beginning to feel fuzzy, his vision tunneling and when he spoke, it felt as though his mouth had been injected with Novocaine. The flashing, colored lights of the club swirled together in chaotic patterns and the faces around him transformed into eerie parodies of themselves, seemingly viewed through a fish-eye lens. Voices became nonsensical gibberish, echoing around in his head like an alien language. Time seemed to slow down and almost cease to be. His mouth was kissed by men he wasn’t sure he recognized. Parts of his body that had never been touched before were pawed and groped. His head spun dizzily when he was abruptly lifted onto a table, struggling to breathe as a heavy body laid on top of him. He realized with a sickening sense of dread that there was more than tequila in his bloodstream.

Pinned down and too drugged to move, he glanced frantically around for Duo, for Trowa, for his friends. Anyone that could help, but he could not locate them. Or maybe they were a part of the endless sea of faces that appeared to leer at him, or part of the chorus of voices that seemed to laugh at him. He squeezed his eyes shut as his shirt was opened. Rough, unfamiliar hands fumbled with his belt and he swallowed hard when the alcohol threatened to come back up, praying he wouldn’t puke. After what seemed like an eternity of torturous moments, enduring a humiliating sexual assault, the body on top of him was wrenched away. He dimly registered shouting and then the face that he knew, but couldn’t place at the moment was hovering over his, anger and concern written all over it. He smiled when he was lifted into familiarly strong arms and smelled the scent that he knew like the back of his hand. Finally safe, he allowed himself to succumb to the drugs he’d unwittingly ingested. 


	18. The Third Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trowa/Quatre, Trowa Barton (original)/No Name
> 
> Warning for noncon.

The first time anyone had touched him since his horrific encounters at the hands of the mercenaries was when the real Trowa Barton had slung an arm around him while showing him a photo of his niece, Mariemaia. He’d allowed the touch because Trowa had been his boss and he’d needed the money. When he was groped and subsequently buggered over the tool box, the sharp metal edge digging into his stomach, he’d clenched his teeth and endured it in silence.

The second time he was touched was when Cathy had popped him in the jaw after finding out he was planning on self-destructing. It was the first time physical contact had been initiated out of love and concern for his well-being. He reciprocated by resting his hand on top of hers and reassured her he would return. 

The third time was when he kissed Quatre after gaining back his memories, but it was the first time in his life he’d initiated such intimate contact because it had been what _he’d_ wanted to do. That third time, which he now considered his first, was the thing that finally began to close the infected wounds of past trauma and with every touch that followed, his raw, oozing core healed in increasingly larger increments. Love was the medicine, the salve for his broken soul, but discovering he was _worthy_ of love had been the cure all along.


	19. Last Kill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for violence, suicide pact, major character death, daaarrrrrk.

The night was cold and damp, the gusty winds lifting his hair off his forehead and blowing into his numbed ears. It was the kind of chilly wind that penetrated through your clothes and made you feel like you’d never get warm. He stood in the shadows beneath the streetlights and waited for the others. 

They arrived, one by one, the beams from their headlights shifting across his vision, causing him to squint. The cars parked along the side of the road, one behind the other. The click of the doors opening and slamming closed muted in the howling wind. He watched them approach, their footsteps steady despite the splash as they walked through the puddles from the earlier rain.

He lifted his chin when they stood before him expectantly. “Did you bring them?” They nodded and produced their weapons from beneath their windbreakers. Five handguns, the dark metal glinting slightly in the sickly orange of the flickering streetlight. “Alright, come with me.” They followed him beneath the overpass where they stood together in a tight circle. He pressed his gun to his temple and watched them mimic the action, pointing their own guns to their heads. There was a simultaneous flash of light, followed by the crack of the shots and the five bodies collapsed to the wet concrete. Their promise that they would kill themselves before they took another life had been honored. For five former soldiers who did not know how to live without the brutality of war, they removed the final threat to everlasting peace. Now, all of humanity’s weapons had been obliterated.


	20. A Drop of Crimson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trowa/Quatre
> 
> Major character death, allusion to suicide.

The flowers were beautiful. That’s what everyone kept saying, though Trowa didn’t notice. The giant, white lilies, the official flower of funerals and also coincidentally Quatre’s favorite, draped over the casket in a cascading swag and were scattered around the burial site in massive abundance. It seemed as though every citizen on L4 had brought an arrangement.

The bullet wound in his shoulder ached, but it was infinitesimal compared to the void in his heart. Catherine stood beside him with her arm looped through his uninjured one and dabbed a white handkerchief against her eyes. His eyes were dry, but focused on the casket where his love would spend the rest of eternity as if it was the only thing in the world that existed.  _It should have been me,_ he thought. He’d seen the gunman before Quatre had and acted with his phenomenally lightning quick reflexes, drawing the blond into his chest and turning his back to the gunman so that he would receive the bullet instead. He had, but unfortunately it went right through him. Right through him and into his love, the bullet lodging into Quatre’s heart and killing him instantly. The deep empathetic connection they shared was abruptly and permanently severed and that had hurt far more than the profusely bleeding hole in his shoulder. 

He stepped forward, placing a single red rose on top of the ivory casket, a drop of crimson in a sea of pristine white. He pressed his fingers to his lips then touched them to the hard wood, the last kiss of this life, but the promise of many more in the next. There was no need to cry. They would be together again soon. As he’d said once before, he said it again, the promise just as meaningful. _I’m coming, Quatre. Wait for me._


	21. The Raven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Treize/Wufei
> 
> An ode to the great Edgar Allan Poe. I do write poetry, but I’m not fluent in Old English speak, I’m afraid. I apologize if I butchered it.

These bleak Decembers where I burrow, nodding, not quite napping, behind my chamber door. On this midnight dreary, I bleed the loss of my great Lenore. My Raven doth quoth the sorrow of my days as he left my chambers forevermore.

I vainly sought his reasons for which his wish left me weak and weary. I ponder and hope, this sorrow of mine leaves me doubting and fearing. For lonely isolation is not mine bedfellow, but you, my Raven, oh, be still my beating heart. You make these dark days shine and cheery.

But what is this I hear? This tapping, rapping sound on my chamber door? Could it be what I seek in this cold, black heart of mine? My Raven, my Salvation, knocking on my chamber door? I tread lightly across my floor, desperate to know if my lonely days of yore, are behind me now forevermore. Open here, I fling the door, my beautiful Raven, such merciful angel as he, right outside my chamber door. I reach, hesitation weary in my bones, his thorns sharp and deadly, I fear he is but a ghost, a spectre. A figment of my desolate mind. But, lo, he speaks, his voice brings me ashore. My Raven’s red lips, like blood against bone, tell me what my heart needs most, as he crosses through my chamber door. My Raven smiles and quoth, “Nevermore.”


	22. Mobilization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is something I will probably also expand on since I obviously can’t give it enough credence in three paragraphs. I know it’s somewhat similar to Incendiary, but not quite the same and it’ll probably be a one, or two-shot. We’ll see. Also, Quat’s not the strategist for nothin’. ~_^

When they came for him, it was violent. Like a freight train, they plowed through his office door, the shouts and clicks of weapons being cocked were loud in the limited space of the room. He’d gone for his own, that instant of fight, or flight reaction before his rational mind assessed the situation. _Okay, Quatre. This isn’t going to work. You’ll end up with more holes in your body than Swiss cheese before you can get past them._ He laid his gun down on top of the desk and locked his fingers behind his head.

The armed men, clad in black uniforms and vests, their heads covered with helmets and visors, circled around the the desk and seized him by the arm. He raised his eyes to the ceiling, remaining still as he was frisked, knowing they would find the other firearm that was secured in its holster around his calf. They pulled the weapon free and handed it to the sergeant for confiscation along with the Glock on his desk. The rifle and shotgun that stood behind the door were also taken into custody.

“Mr. Winner, you are under arrest for suspicion of being a Newtype,” the sergeant informed him. He snorted derisively.  _No shit._ The seizing of Newtypes had spread from the earth into the colonies and Quatre knew it was only a matter of time before their intel found its way to him. He didn’t put up a fight as he was cuffed and pushed through his office door and down the hallway. He ordered his secretary to call his lawyers as well as Mr. Barton when he was manhandled past her desk and out the door to the armored truck that waited outside. ERIS, Earth Resistance International Supremacy was the usurping militant regime that had forced the abdication of the President of the Earth Sphere Unified Nations and subsequently dissolved the organization. And ERIS’s first call to action was to “recruit” Newtypes for their advanced weapons’ program. Quatre could only hope the protocol that he’d put into place in preparation of this seizure would go according to plan.


	23. Heirloom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quatre finds something special, but the gift that follows is priceless.
> 
> I love the idea of Quat and Dorothy being awesome buddies and bonding over their shared love of antiques. I also headcanon Dorothy as being an antiques dealer who frequently deals in priceless items and knows her history when it comes to them.

The wardrobe was an antique, gently worn and beautifully archaic. Quatre had fallen in love with it at first sight and while he wasn’t big on impulse purchases, he’d bought it on sight and had it delivered to his condo on L4. The armoire was nestled between the two bay windows in his bedroom. The pale blue green of the faded, timeworn paint offset the rich cream of the sheer curtain panels and he was thrilled to have found a large piece of artwork that went perfectly with the ensemble with its tones of blue green and little pops of red. He was so excited about his newly-found penchant for interior design, he snapped a picture and immediately sent it to Dorothy who also had a love for all things antique.

As a dealer with extensive historical knowledge of antique pieces, she was able to trace the armoire back to its origins. She was happy to report to Quatre that it was built by one of his ancestors, passed down for generations within his mother’s family and had been one of her favorite pieces, sold after she died in childbirth to remove all evidence that he’d ever had a mother. 

Quatre broke down in tears at the news. He was elated to have gotten a hold of something that had been so precious to his mother, but saddened and angry by the extent of the lies and manipulation that had gone into erasing her existence. He was so grateful to Dorothy for uncovering the information and had no idea how to repay her, though she insisted it was no problem. The wardrobe became his most cherished possession, at least until Dorothy managed to locate a photograph of his mother. He framed it in gold and reverently placed it on top of the armoire. Now, he had visual representation to match the love in his heart for the woman who sacrificed her life for him.


	24. Booty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duo/Heero, Trowa/Quatre
> 
> Pirate AU. Yes, I went there. Forgive me, fandom, for I have sinned. xD
> 
> Also, check out chapter three in my The Potentials collection for my "sequel" which will likely be expanded into a longer story.

The maps were strewn around on top of the round, wooden table, their haphazard disarray an inclination that the captain was not pleased. In fact, the whole inside of the cabin was a mess. The few possessions the captain currently owned were either broken, or rolling around on the floor, back and forth with the sway of the stolen ship. The navigator stood inside the main room of the cabin where the table and chairs took up half the space, a few of the chairs knocked over. He righted them as quietly as he could. Within the cabin, another smaller room provided privacy for the sleeping quarters.

The navigator rubbed his hands together nervously as he listened to the hoarse cries and groans and the rhythmic thump of the bed against the wall. He was hard-pressed to interrupt the mercurial captain while he was… _occupied_ with his catamite. Men who’d done so in the past were often met with a face full of lead. Unfortunately, it was a risk the navigator would have to take. He lifted a trembling hand and gently rapped on the door, listening as the groaning and thumping abruptly stopped. There was a silent pause, then the captain’s voice barked, “ _What!_ ”

The navigator cleared his throat. “My apologies, Captain. The _Catherine_ has arrived. Captain Barton wishes to meet with you to discuss the terms of your agreement.” The man’s voice grumbled on the other side of the door. There was a shuffling sound and then the door swung open, revealing the captain, clad only in a pair of leather breeches. His long braid had unraveled in the struggle with his catamite. Scratches adorned his bare chest and upper arms. A quick glance over his shoulder and the navigator caught sight of the captain’s bed warmer, still naked as a jay bird and sprawled across the bed. His dark brown hair was tousled, locks of chocolate hanging down over half-lidded blue eyes. He jerked his attention back to his captain when he heard the soft growl and quickly moved out of the way as he pushed through the door. The captain’s face was sour as he slid on a linen shirt. “Damn Barton. That scurvy son of a bitch best not have buggered up me ship.”


	25. Trinity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heero/Trowa/Quatre
> 
> OT3 FTW!! B)

Trowa discovered fairly quickly that he was the jealous type. Quatre’s deep connection with Heero was proof of that. Not that he didn’t trust Quatre, or Heero for that matter, even when they disappeared for hours, usually because Heero needed to talk and the only one he trusted enough to unload his feelings onto was Quatre. It didn’t hurt that the blond was a perfect listener, lending his ear and only providing advice in sporadic, gentle reassurance. He knew instinctively when it was time to talk and when it was time to just quietly listen. Trowa knew firsthand how easy it was to share every thought, every emotion with Quatre. He’d often found himself doing the same.

And the more Heero sought the blond out, the closer they inevitably got. As Quatre’s lover, Trowa had begun developing the habit of “accidentally” eavesdropping on the two after they’d locked themselves away in an empty room of Quatre’s estate. At one point, it had lead to a heated confrontation with Heero which ended badly. Both of them winding up in the doghouse for a few days. They eventually swallowed their pride and contritely approached the blond with their tails between their legs. Thankfully, Quatre never could hold a grudge.

Two months later, Quatre sat him down to “have a talk” and Trowa’s heart sunk into his stomach, thinking the worst. Thinking that his love was dumping him for Heero. Instead, Quatre had a proposition: Invite Heero into their relationship. Trowa’s initial response had been, “No,” before he stomped off to the weight room to sweat out his anger and his jealousy. When Quatre approached him again, his pleas that Heero didn’t have anyone else, began to crack the hard shell of Trowa’s resolve. The third time, he caved, giving in though with strong reservations. But it wasn’t long after that, that he realized he needn’t have worried. Quatre had been right as he always was and Trowa found himself able and willing to extend his love to the Japanese man, soon welcoming him with open arms. He only wished Quatre would stop being so smug about it.


	26. Endless Waltz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zechs/Noin

His boot heels clicked on the marble floor and echoed off the high ceilings, loud in the vast emptiness of the abandoned estate. The wind from the storm outside blew in from the broken floor to ceiling windows and billowed his aubergine cape, the thick fabric flapping against his back. He stopped in the middle of the two story foyer and fisted his hands on his hips. The heat had been turned off for quite some time and the inside of his once childhood home was frigid with the blistering winds of a January storm. 

It looked as though someone, possibly a servant, had tried to cover the broken windows with sheets of plastic, but whether the plastic had been torn either by someone’s hand, or by the elements, he wasn’t sure. The ragged remnants fluttered and spun in the harsh winds and snow had blown in, coating the sills and floors. He took a deep breath and blew it out with a heavy sigh as he glanced around. Everything was gone. The estate had been completely ransacked. The rooms were barren of furniture, hooks and wires hung forlornly on the walls where grand, aristocratic paintings of his ancestors once graced the eyes with their elegant opulence. Once upon a time, this had been a staple of status, an example of much happier times. Now, it was a wasteland, a fossilized relic and a reminder that nothing is engraved in stone. 

He rubbed his cold hands together in an attempt to warm them and headed to the ballroom. Much like the rest of the house, it was dark, stripped, and bare. The gold and crystal chandeliers were yanked from their ceiling mounts and likely sold in some auction, or another. He remember clearly kneeling on this very dance floor and holding a small velvet box up to the woman he'd sworn his life to. He remembered how the orchestra had stopped their exuberant waltz so that his proposal and her answer could be heard among the party goers. She'd said yes and at the time, he'd believed nothing could ever go wrong. The ghosts of his past haunted him as he strode across the floor. He lifted his arms and poised his body for a dance. A dance with an invisible love. He began to hum the sweet melody that the orchestra played after she'd told him yes, could still hear the answering cheers and applause in his ears. He counted the time to the music in his head and began to dance.


	27. Little Black Babydoll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Treize/Wufei
> 
> A little dark, D/s, crossdressing, dom!Wufei/sub!Treize. It's outofworkshinigami's fault. xD

Treize loved the cool slide of satin against his skin, especially when the skin was freshly shaven. His favorite color was black, not only because it was reminiscent of his dark Dragon, but also the fact that Wufei loved the shade on him. He always said it was a dramatically beautiful contrast to his pale skin and Treize always preened under the praise. The baby dolls were a favorite for both of them. The sleek and almost innocent négligée never failed to work his Dragon into unprecedented levels of arousal and dominance. 

It was delicious agony, the kind of carnal sin that made him soar to heights of passion he’d never experienced in his escapades with women. It was one thing to bed a delicate female body, and quite another to be taken so forcefully by another man. Wufei somehow always knew how to touch, what to say, his smoldering looks provoking a high like no other. The timbre of his voice, deep, dark, and dangerous, igniting along his nerves and traveling to the part of his brain that craved submission to another man. That craved submission to his Dragon. He simply couldn’t help it. But Wufei not only accepted this, oftentimes frightening, aspect of his desires, but he participated in it, nurtured it. Indulged it.

Even now, as his teeth clenched around the fabric of his silk pillowcase, with his ass in the air. The black satin and lace of his baby doll rucked up around his shoulder blades and the panties pulled to the side for access to his opening. As his Dragon plundered him in the most delirious of ways, fingers tight against his hips. As terrifying was the prospect of anyone discovering his secret, he knew he would never stop asking for this. Never stop craving it. Though he was sure he could trust his Dragon, the fear still lingered, but it was never enough to put a stop to it, or pretend it didn’t happen. Perhaps the most splendid of aphrodisiacs was the heightened sense of possible discovery. The heady rush of danger which provided pleasure that surpassed all rational thought.


	28. Upgrades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trowa/Quatre

When the mangled and charred remnants of Heavyarms was brought back to the hangar, Quatre could only stare, his feet feeling like heavy weights super glued to the steel grates of the catwalk. His heart seemed to cease its beating as shock took over his system. There was no way Trowa could have survived the missile fire.

He registered the warm hand on his shoulder, recognized Duo’s distinct scent, but couldn’t find the will to move. “You don’t have to watch this, Quat. You shouldn’t -” Duo’s voice trailed off at the shake of Quatre’s head and gripped his shoulder tightly, though whether Duo was bracing himself, or trying to comfort Quatre was anyone’s guess. Quatre’s bottom lip trembled when the dented and smashed cockpit was wrenched open and sucked in a sharp breath, expecting to see the twisted remains of his love’s body. But Trowa wasn’t there. Quatre blinked dumbly as the empty cockpit was revealed and he suddenly remembered to breathe again. 

“Looking for me?” The blond spun at the familiar, soft spoken voice, his hands flying up to cover his mouth. He couldn’t stop the tears of relief that flooded his eyes as he tore across the catwalk and flung himself into Trowa’s arms. Between kissing the boy’s face and blubbering, he managed to ask him how he escaped what seemed to be the inescapable. Trowa chuckled and threaded his fingers through the thick blond waves. “Eject button. I know it’s not standard on a Gundam, but I had Heavyarms equipped with one not too long ago. Glad I did, too.” Trowa graced his love with one of his rare grins and leaned down to kiss him properly. “Is it suppertime yet? I’m starved!”


	29. Hair Raising

Quatre ducked just in time, narrowly missing the laser blast that skimmed over the top of his head. He dove beneath a metal cabinet, nose wrinkling at the smell of burning hair. He reached up and patted the smoldering embers on his head with a curse just as Duo joined him beneath the cabinet. He shot the braided man a sideways glance and grumbled, “Well, this was a swell idea. Any more brilliant plans, oh wise one?”

“Hey, you’re the one that tripped over the electrical cords and knocked over those steel crates that were filled with grenades, thus igniting the explosion that tipped them off.” Quatre scoffed and reloaded his weapon. “Look at my hair, Duo!” Duo glanced up and snickered as he saw scorched locks of once blond hair, now charred and blackened. Quatre scowled and snapped, “It’s not funny!”

“Actually, Quat, it is pretty funny.” Quatre’s expression was sour as he wiggled out of the tight space and brought his knees under him. “Just for that I ought to shoot your braid off.” Duo balked, “You wouldn’t _dare!_ ” Quatre grinned and poised his weapon over the top of the cabinet. “If we get out of this alive, consider it done.” Not that he actually would, but it was fun getting Duo worked up over his hair. They did make it out alive and Duo was relieved when Quatre didn’t actually shoot his braid off, though he was pretty pissed when he woke up the next morning to discover it had been dipped in a can of black paint. It took him almost five hours to wash it out, cursing like a sailor the whole time. Quatre calmly sipped his tea and smirked as he listened to the American rattle off every swear word he could think of. “Serves you right.”


	30. Abdication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zechs/Treize Smut

Not everyone got to see the supreme commander of the Imperialist superpower OZ in this position. Zechs could count himself the sole, lucky individual who was fortunate enough to gaze down at the bare back of his commander, watching with hungry eyes, the rivulets of sweat trickle down over the flexing muscles. He got to see his commander’s eyelids flutter and close in bliss. He got to witness him stifling his moans into the pillow beneath his head. It was the most breathtaking thing Zechs had ever seen.

He thrust harder, the move almost bruising in its force, and was rewarded with a soft mewl from the man spread out beneath him. His platinum blond hair was plastered to his face and neck, damp with exertion. He worked his hips, rolling them and slapping them against the muscular ass. He pushed and twisted and dug deep inside, the tip of his cock seeking that place that made his commander whimper with ecstasy. The sweet agony in his groin swirled down into a concentrated point as his orgasm began to build and he leaned down over his lover, kissing the moist knobs of his spine with reverence. 

When Treize said, “Pleasure me,” Zechs knew exactly what he meant. He was accustomed now to what his commander loved the most. His body sung with the heady feeling of dominance whenever Treize said those two simple words. On their own, they meant little, but in fact had a profound deeper meaning that only the two of them were privy to. When out on the battlefield, Treize called the shots. When alone, he abdicated his power to his subordinate in a display of wanton surrender, inviting Zechs to ravish and plunder in the darkest, most sinful ways.  For Zechs, knowing that the most feared man in the Earth Sphere was still only human, when he exposed his vulnerability, that was perhaps the most precious gift of all.


	31. Quantum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introspective piece from Heero’s POV and his own headcanon about the inner (and outer) workings of the Universe and our own place in it.

We are the quantum world. What we regard as the quantum world is simply the same thing on a smaller scale. A whole other universe in of itself. It has no awareness of anything that exists beyond it. Sound familiar? There is always something bigger. Bigger than us, bigger than Earth, bigger than the solar system, the galaxy, the Universe. We are a quantum world to another plane of existence. We are an infinitesimal, incomprehensible speck in the much larger eyes of beings who live on a much more expansive cosmic plane. And for them, they are the quantum world for something even bigger.  
  
Does it end? Do the planes of existence finally become so small, they begin to resemble a singularity? Do they just get way too big to be sustainable? I don’t know, but I do know this: Dying gives you a glimpse of places that you never thought were possible.  
  
But, for however important, or larger than life we think we are, we are simply no match for the vast cosmic power of space and time. We never have been, never will be. The answers to life’s most pressing questions may be out there, but we will never find them because they exist in places, in distances, in dimensions we will never see. Our time here is brief, finite, and insignificant. We exist in a tiny window of a perception of time that did not always exist and will either end, or change at some point. We are only relevant to our diminutive neighborhood in a trifling point in space and the Universe and everything that exists beyond it will continue to exist after our extinction. The cosmos does not care about how self-important we are and it will not shiver, sigh, or mourn when we’re gone.


	32. Sharing the Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heero/Trowa/Quatre
> 
> Sequel to Trinity. Smutty, threesome.

Golden hair was spread across the deep green pillow, glowing like a halo in the light from the fireplace. Half lidded aquamarine eyes glittered up at him like jewels, set in the most lovely face he’d ever seen. He thrust hard between the blond’s thighs and the move earned him a lustful whimper. He growled, low in his throat, the heady feeling of power igniting along his nerve endings as he watched his love’s beautiful mouth pleasure their third lover.

Three months ago, Quatre had managed to convince him to allow Heero into their relationship. Though initially reticent, overcome with jealousy and not willing to share, Trowa eventually did give in. Now, as he watched the dark haired man brush the thick blond waves away from Quatre’s face, he knew he’d made the right choice. 

He leaned forward, capturing Heero’s lips in a deep kiss, both of them groaning simultaneously from the stimulation Quatre provided between them. They broke apart, a smile of mutual understanding, a gleam of gratitude in Heero’s eyes. Trowa caressed his smooth cheek before they returned their focus back to Quatre. Heero’s hands held the blond head steady as he pushed his cock between the swollen lips while Trowa lifted the smooth, creamy legs and drove himself in, hard and fast, relishing in the muffled cries of pleasure. Quatre was a genius in all things, but this was definitely his best idea yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of the thirty one day challenge. Hope you enjoyed it! *hugs* ^_^


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